


Duckling

by Blackarrow_bagels1



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Backstory, Batdad, Not Beta Read, Trans!Tim Drake, good dad bruce - Freeform, tim backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackarrow_bagels1/pseuds/Blackarrow_bagels1
Summary: Tim got hurt on a mission, and Bruce waits while he recovers.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	Duckling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a scene from a larger timkon fic I'm writing. I thought I'd post this bit bc in the Batfam discord last night we were talking about how Tom King hates good batdad, and I hate Tom King so I wrote this. 
> 
> It'll be included in the longer fic once I post it, but here's a sneak peak.

A blizzard had moved in, seemingly overnight. Gotham was in a state of emergency- no one was to go outside. Libraries and other public buildings opened their doors to house the homeless, and Wayne Foundation was supplying them with extra food and blankets. Not even Batman dared go outside. Only an idiot, or someone with a deathwish would risk being in the frigid hell the city found itself in.

Tim stretched out a cold, weak arm. He just barely hit the door bell, shivering too wildly to think. His brain rattled around his skull, and frost bite had started to take his toes. This was stupid, he was sure, but necessary.

Alfred opened the door to the Manor, awed by the sight. In front of him was a small child, shock of black hair covered under a crown of snow flakes, shivering to death. The older man rushed him inside without thinking, for a moment mistaking the sight for Jason. This wasn’t him, however. Jason had died a year ago, and the family was still mourning the loss.

“What are you doing here, young sir?” Alfred asked, brushing the snow off the child. They looked androgenous, a masculine posture blessed with feminine features. The kid was wearing a purple, Gotham Knights hoodie, and pants- not nearly enough to face the harsh weather. Their thin arms were holding something large and black. It didn’t look like a bomb- but it was angular and occasionally beeped. The kid was still shaking, barely managing to answer the question through chattering teeth.

“I need to speak to Batman.”

Alfred scoffed.

“What makes you think he’s here, in Wayne Manor? If he has any good sense, he’ll be at home, curled up under a warm blanket.” The kid shook their head, adamant.

“I need to talk to Bruce Wayne. He’s Batman. I have proof.” They held out the thing they were carrying. Alfred could see it clearly now. A large, black camera. He briefly considered smashing the wretched, incriminating machine, but thought better of it. This child had braved the cold to talk to Bruce Wayne. Sending him away would only ensure that he came back, perhaps on a more dangerous night. The thought of another child dying was too much.

“Wait here, young Sir. I’ll fetch Master Wayne.”

Tim tried to warm himself up in the moment he had alone. The Manor looked different from how he’d imagined it. He’d accidentally tracked snow in, which was already melting through his clothes, freezing him further. He wasn’t sure how snow would affect his binder, but with his luck, it wouldn’t be good. After a long while, he started to suspect that the butler had left him here alone intentionally. He was probably asleep, enjoying the heating of the large mansion. Tim sighed. He’d been trying to reach Mr. Wayne for a month now, with no success. And, of course, the day he planned to go out was the day a record breaking blizzard reached Gotham City. He wasn’t one to abandon plans, however. When Tim Drake put his mind to something, he got it done. It’s not like his parents would care- they were out of town again. There was no way he could earn their respect, but perhaps he could earn Gotham’s. If he could just convince Mr. Grayson-

“You waited an hour,” a gruff voice pulled Tim out of his scheming. He looked up to where it was coming from. There was Mr. Wayne, looking worse than ever. Unshaven stubble covered his chin, the circles under his eyes were darker than Tim’s camera. He looked ragged.

“I need to talk to you,” Tim responded, standing up as straight as possible. He was short, but still tried to project strength, despite how cold he was. Bruce walked right up to him, sizing him up in a single look. Tim offered the camera, opening up to the photographic evidence. Bruce looked at it, jaw tight.

“What do you *need* to talk to me about, kid?” he asked, condescendingly. Tim brushed off his tone.

“You’re the Batman. And Mr. Grayon was Robin. But now he’s Nightwing, and Jason Todd was-” 

Bruce’s whole body tensed at the mention of that name. He didn’t do much, but Tim picked up on all of it. He flinched reflexively as Bruce’s free hand culled into a fist, his eyes narrowing in anger. Janet had done the same things before she said something-

“This is all the evidence you have? What would you do if I broke your camera?” Bruce’s question caught Tim off guard. He didn’t say anything transphobic, or personal. Tim had prepared for this exact problem.

“I’ve already saved the photos. And I have more. Enough to conclusively prove that you’re the Batman. That’s not why I’m here. I need to talk to you about Batman….. And Robin.”

Maybe it was because the weather was too cold to send him home. Maybe it was because he knew too much, and needed to be dealt with. Maybe it was because of that mischievous spark in his eye, reminding him of Jason. Whatever the reason, Bruce sighed, releasing the tension from his shoulders. 

“Alright, kid. What’s your name?”  
\--

He didn’t want to be Robin. Really. It was a mistake. Dick was resolute about not being Robin again. Batman wouldn’t have it either. So when Alfred urged Tim to don the costume, to save his heroes, he didn’t see another choice. He told himself it would be a one-time thing, just to save Batman and Nightwing.

But then he enjoyed it. Dick said the costume fit him well, but he would want one of his own. Alfred said Bruce was thankful, but his hostile demeanor certainly didn’t show it. Tim struck a deal, promising to train and train and train before he’d ever put the costume on again. Somehow, it worked.  
\--  
Somewhere along the way, he earned a nickname. He’d already explained his name and pronouns. Batman and Nightwing caught on quickly, and it felt good to be called Robin. Batman was overbearing, occasionally, but Tim knew why. He got used to following Bruce around. His parents were never home, and Dick offered to tutor Tim in his worst classes. Slowly, he started spending more and more time with the Waynes, picking up their habits and imprinting on them. Dick referred to Tim as Bruce’s little duckling, a smaller replica always a few steps behind. That was the beginning of his nickname.  
\--

When Jack died, everything got worse. If Bruce hadn’t been there, Tim’s whole world would have collapsed. He knew it was his fault, that the only reason his parents were targeted by criminals was because he was Robin. The night was still burned in his mind, being held in Batman’s arms as he cried in grief. Soon after that he was officially adopted, legally assuming the place in the Wayne house he’d earned years ago.  
\--  
(time skip)  
\--

Tim was rushed to a hospital after the mission. Batman had given him something to delay drowning- not stop it. Dr. Thompkins knew what she was doing, and managed to clear the water from his lungs without any problems. He risked getting hypothermia, but Batman’s heated cape had staved it off for now. Tim spent the night in a hospital bed, resting. Leslie was outside the room, “discussing” the situation with Batman. This wasn’t the first time a hurt Robin had been in this situation. He fell asleep at some point, the soft pillows and stale sheets finally taking him.

Tim woke up late that morning. He hadn’t slept well all week, and finally caught up on sorely missed hours that night. Bruce was also asleep, slumped in the cheap, plastic chair next to the hospital bed. Robin’s head still hurt, and the memories of the previous night were fuzzy.

“Mmm Dad?” he slurred, trying to sit up. Whatever painkillers he was on made his muscles ache. Bruce jolted awake at the sound, his eyes lighting with warmth when he saw Tim finally awake.

“Hey, duckling,” Bruce whispered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He also stretched his arms, accidentally cracking his back in the process. “You slept for a while.” Tim stifled a yawn. He looked around. No one else was in the room, and there were no cameras. This must’ve been Dr. Thompkins’ private room that she used for Batman. 

“Did Luthor get away? I’m sorry I didn’t-” Tim asked. He wasn’t slurring anymore, but his voice didn’t sound great. Cracked ribs and nearly drowning had left his lungs weaker than usual.

“No, you caught him,” Bruce smiled, sitting up straighter, looking Tim in the eyes now. Tim sat back, trying to think. That didn’t make any sense- he hadn’t caught Luthor. Instead, he spent the fight getting beaten by a robot, nearly drowning, and then talking to Conner. Not one of his best fights. His job was to tag the ship, make sure it didn’t escape into the night. But that Amazo caught him off guard, and he didn’t even defeat it himself. Bruce laid a hand over Tim’s forehead, brushing some bangs out of his son’s eyes.

“Your quick thinking last night saved us. You made a one in a million shot, but it worked. We’re tracking the ship right now. Luthor’s in jail.” Tim thought it over. He must’ve tagged the ship before drowning. If so, he doubted the shot would’ve been that impressive. Certainly not one in a million. And the other thing- Luthor was in jail. Not prison, which held people for years, but jail. Where Metropolis’ maximum sentence was nine months. It was probably pending a trial. He’d get out early on bail and good behavior. No doubt Bruce had already thought of his and told Clark. They’d be ready when Luthor tried to do something evil again. Maybe Tim could even see Conner again.

“I gotta go to work, but I wanted to be here when you woke up,” Bruce sighed, ruffling Tim’s bangs. He’d missed a JL meeting, waiting for his duckling to wake up. Tim looked confused. Bruce tried to remember that his son wasn’t used to paternal affection, that his parents had somehow not seen what a gift their boy was, that they never cherished him like he deserved, that-

“How long was I out?” Tim asked, rubbing his eyes. He looked out the window, trying to gauge the time from the sun. Bruce smiled to himself, feeling the soreness in his lower back. Sleeping in that chair had been a mistake, but he didn’t regret it.

“27 hours. Over a full day.” Bruce left after that, leaving Tim alone. He hated leaving, but his son needed rest. As long as Bruce was present, Tim would be trying to impress him, trying to “earn” the unconditional love he’d already won. It was a depressing thought, the idea that Tim didn’t know how much his father cared, the lengths Bruce would go to for him.

On the drive back to the Manor, Bruce thought only of Tim. He’d looked so tired this week, but never said anything about it. There was always another reason to stay awake- nightly patrol, studying for a test, joining Superman’s mission. Despite what his public persona showed off, he wasn’t all that smart. Tim was dedicated and hard working, but couldn’t tell when he’d overextended himself. He also couldn’t tell that Conner had a crush on him, but that was a whole other conversation.


End file.
